


Wildfire

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Injuries, Panic Attacks, Self-Hatred, Sex, everyone's a hot mess babes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 08:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13543152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Even with all his charm, Laurens can’t hide the fact that something else brews under the surface. Hamilton’s seen it before, that raging, all-consuming blaze that John bears as a sigil. He’s seen it in some men, and in the middle of the storm.John gets into a fight. Alexander gets dragged into it.





	Wildfire

 

“Are you sure, Laurens?”, Hamilton says, eyes fixed on his empty glass.

“Yeah, don’t worry” John replies, his voice painfully loud. He gestures to the waitress for another round.

John Laurens is hard to ignore. A boisterous little thing, there isn’t a single moment where the man is quiet, always either speaking at the top of his lungs or just gesturing wildly. And right there, under the gentle lamplight, he looks absolutely stunning. Hamilton steals furtive glances at him as they talk, just bashful enough not to raise suspicion. John’s features are odd mixture of kind and rough, warm hazel eyes contrasting with the teeth marks on his knuckles, and freckled patterns connected by numerous scars.

“I’m telling you”, Laurens barks, making Alexander focus again, “that guy is an idiot”

“I bet I could destroy him,” Alexander grins.

“You gotta show me, then”

They both laugh stridently, Hamilton only calming down when he feels Laurens’ hand on his knee. The waitress finally approaches with their order, startling them both; Hamilton looks at the glasses, then back at Laurens, and waits for him to retract his offer. But John doesn’t say a word and pays for the drinks like it doesn’t matter; it’s almost a challenge, the way he looks at money with disdain. Alexander loves it, always has.

“Here’s for us”, John says with a sneer.

“And for the growing awareness of our youth”

John raises his glass and promptly chugs down his beer, ignoring the man that approaches their table at a steadfast pace. It’s some drunk patron that had been listening to their conversation; a young man about a foot taller than either of them, wearing a long black coat. Alexander sees him first, and he can feel his pulse quicken.

“How’s my boy doing?” the man says, his hand on John’s shoulder.

“Why do you care”, Laurens replies sternly, his muscles tensing up.

“Heard you talking about Farmer”

“None of your business”

“Can’t say I’m surprised of what you said”, the man says, voice dripping with malice, “you’ve always been a fucking idiot”

Hamilton looks up, eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and excitement. He can tear the guy apart, he is ready for it. Expecting approval, he looks at John, but his friend only replies with a glare.

“Don’t you dare say that about my friend again”, Alexander blurts out anyways.

A part of him expects no reaction. The man is drunk beyond belief, and doesn’t look particularly sharp. It’s either that, or a violent response. What he gets instead leaves Hamilton baffled. Grinning, the man in the long coat stands up and leans forward, lips almost touching Alexander’s cheek.

“So, he’s trained you pretty well, huh?”

In a moment, all the blood drains from John’s face. He stares at the man, jaw tense.

“Charles, be careful with what you’re about to say”

“Laurens, what the hell” Alexander asks quickly, their words overlapping.

“Let it be, son,” Charles says as he takes a sip of Laurens’ drink, “kid’s just bluffing”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you”

“Oh, shut up”, the man scoffs, “let your friend hear”

“Meet me outside” Laurens barks, and then he’s on his feet.

Charles follows him, and so does Alexander.

 

* * *

 

 

Seeing John fight is the most delightful thing he’s ever witnessed.

Hamilton stares as the scene devolves into chaos. Heart beating like a drum, hands shaking; he looks at Laurens, follows the movement of his fists as he strikes the other man’s face over and over. John’s hair is loose, and there’s fire in his eyes.

Wildfire. Even with all his charm, Laurens can’t hide the fact that something else brews under the surface. Hamilton’s seen it before, that raging, all-consuming blaze that John bears as a sigil. He’s seen it in some men, and in the eye of the hurricane. It’s fascinating, certainly, if not a bit horrifying.

The loyalist struggles under Laurens’ weight; pushes him, manages to escape. There’s blood dripping down his chin and a wild gleam in his eye. He reaches for something, and a moment later a blade shines under the moonlight. Laurens smiles, his expression accentuated by the gentle light of a nearby lamp.

He always smiles when he’s fighting.

John bites, and claws, and kicks at every given chance. They fall to the ground again as Laurens attempts to dodge the knife. Alexander remains frozen, even when he hears the sound of metal meeting flesh; a sickening wet sound that’s way louder than it should. Laurens gasps and stares at his palm, which has been sliced open. He growls. There’s blood everywhere, and Laurens is furious. He curls his wounded hand into a first and tries to get a hit; the man stops him, then the knife slashes John across the arm.

“Son of a-” Laurens tries to yell, but is cut when the man presses the blunt side of the blade against his neck.

In the second it takes for him to react, Alexander searches for a sign. He looks at Laurens and tries to find something, anything that resembles a cry for help. He searches for a hint of fear in his friend’s face; a sign of regret, of realization of his actual condition, yet he finds nothing but _defiance_. Laurens stares at the man and growls, almost as if daring him to sink the blade.

It’s repulsive, it’s confusing, and Hamilton finds himself completely enraptured by it. He still acts, though; his body had begun to move on its own the very second Laurens had stopped talking. He pounces on the assailant, earns himself an elbow to the face; then there’s hands on his neck, and the back of his head is being bashed against the wall. Hamilton trembles, vision blurry and chest tight.

He hears his name, then there’s sparks.

For an instant, the world gleams, and smells of burning flame; then, he understands, he sees it. The loyalist falls forward, limp and silent, and behind him, Laurens stands, fingers still curled around the remains of the broken lamp.

“Laurens”, Hamilton murmurs, his voice strained.

“Run”

“I’m-”, he tries to protest, but Laurens is stronger, and he’s dragging him by the arm.

“Fuck, _run_!”

Alexander doesn’t know why he obeys, but he does.

* * *

 

He can’t breathe.

There’s too many things; too many things he’s done, too many things he’s heard, all of them crawling and clawing at the back of his mind at the same time. He always does it. Always manages to ruin it.

“Laurens, are you alright?”

They stumble into the room, confused and shaking. John’s panting, panicking, his state only made worse by the sight of red. His coat has been long ruined by the bleeding he forgot to take care of, and Alexander is bleeding too. Blood trickles down his chin, thick and dark and oh, how did it even happen, how did he allow it to happen.

Alexander is the best thing that’s happened to him in a while. He’s smart, he’s witty, and he never runs out of words; they’re alike, so much it’s almost a miracle. John knows it’s a miracle, and as such, he fears it, for never in his life has he found something good that he didn’t manage to destroy. Maybe it’s better if he takes the chance to scare the boy, scare him off so he doesn’t get caught in the wildfire.

Perhaps there’s no need to do it. He’s about to die, anyways, if the hammering in his chest and the fogginess of his vision are anything to go by.

“Man? You here?”,

The voice is soft, almost a whisper. John shivers, but his eyes remain focused elsewhere.

“Laurens”

What John can’t see is that Alexander knows. Alex knows what’s happening, has gone through it enough times. Gentle arms wrap around John’s still trembling figure, and although he can feel how nervous Hamilton is, the gesture still helps.

“Were you writing a letter?”, Alexander asks, voice gentle and low.

Laurens opens his eyes slowly, looking over Alex’s shoulder. He was writing, right, he remembers now. John draws in a shaky breath.

“Yes”

“Who was it for?”

“My father”

“I see”, Hamilton whispers, and begins to run his fingers through John’s hair, “what else were you going to do?”

“Get drunk,” Laurens replies, “after writing to my dad, I sure as hell deserve it”

Alexander stifles a laugh, and the sound’s enough to make John smile. His strength begins to return and he hugs back. It feels right to have Hamilton in his arms. John’s breath is even now, his chest hurts a little less; whatever that was, it’s the first time he’s gone through it with someone by his side, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

“You’re hurt,” he says, suddenly alert, “god, let me patch you up”

With surprising ease, Laurens stands up and disappears into the bedroom, leaving Alexander alone. Hamilton tries not to look at the other’s correspondence, but fails miserably. He reads a good part of the draft before John is back.

“Here,” Laurens says as he holds a damp rag to Alexander’s face, “let me clean you up first”

It hurts, but Hamilton tries not to complain. Having Laurens’ face so close to his own certainly works as a distraction. Much to his surprise, John’s meticulous, delicate even; there’s something almost motherly to his attentions, despite the roughness of his current appearance. There’s blood on his face, and he looks exhausted, but his tongue is sticking out slightly, and in Alexander’s eyes that’s enough to make him look lovely.

“Alright,” John murmurs as he finishes his job, “you’re lucky it’s not broken”

“Let me, uh”, Hamilton says hurriedly, “let me help you maybe?”

“Uh, sure”

John has already accepted when Alexander realizes he has no idea what to do. Clumsily, he takes the rag from Laurens’ hand and dabs at the wound on the other’s cheek. John winces, but he remains in place, and the second time, he doesn’t flinch. Soon the cut’s clean, much to Alexander’s relief. He then looks at Laurens’ arm, and once again finds himself at a loss.

Trembling hands reach for John’s coat, slowly taking it off. Laurens flinches at the contact, before he realizes he’s done it and forces himself to stay put. His heart begins to race again, fear growing in his chest; it does not hurt, but it’s not physical pain that John fears. Soon the coat’s off and Alexander realizes he’ll have to take the shirt off, too; now he’s also hesitating, but John reassures him with a nod.

God, he’s quite a sight. Laurens’ chest has a few scars; one across, two on the side, all quite staggering and painful to look at. John feels the shame rising inside him, but Alexander makes it easier by staying focused on his wounded arm. Hamilton repeats the same process and soon the cut’s clean, but it still bleeds. Rather unconvinced, he wraps a bandage around John’s arm.

“There,” he says, and almost out of impulse, presses a kiss against Laurens’ forehead, “all patched up”

John looks at him, pupils blown wide. Alexander looks so feeble, so innocent under the gentle candlelight. And he’s been so kind to him, to him, who gets into fights and never thinks, never tries. Love and hatred and fear all fill his already confused heart and as always, John doesn’t hesitate.

Without thinking, he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Alexander’s lips.

It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever felt. Fear and guilt hit him instantly, but they’re quickly defeated by Alex’s tenderness. Slow and steady, Hamilton deepens the kiss, hungry yet cautious. John doesn’t want to ruin the moment, but he can’t help himself. With one swift motion, he lunges forward and pins Alexander to the wall, all caution thrown off the window as he begins to messily kiss the other man.

“I’m sorry,” John blurts out, and quickly blushes, ashamed and confused by his own words.

“Hush,” Hamilton whispers, his head tilting back slightly.

John takes the cue and sinks his teeth into Alex’s neck, biting and sucking mercilessly until he draws a shaky moan from his friend. Mind clouded and legs shaking, Hamilton grabs a fistful of Laurens’ hair, and John whines oh so deliciously right against his ear. Alexander’s hands then reach John’s back, scratching thoughtlessly. The world has fallen completely silent aside from their voices.

John’s wanted this for so long. Somehow, he manages to place his knee between Hamilton’s parted legs, and in an instant Alexander’s hips are bucking forward. His moans become louder, almost desperate, as the two of them rock together. John presses his hips forward and marvels at the sounds Hamilton makes, praying they’re loud enough to drown the voice in his head that screams for him to stop. Guilt threatens to overtake again, but John ignores it by becoming even more fervent in his attentions. Soon he manages to overcome it, and then, he loses it. Bites and kisses and messy caresses are given with reckless abandon; Alexander struggles and moans and screams, all because of him, thanks to him.

For a perfect moment, nothing matters. The man he attacked, the letters, his own ghosts. John stares in the face of his fears and grins, defiant, just as he does when he fights. His entire body is shaking, and his legs are about to give out. He knows he'll be punished for this, but he doesn't care, not right now; he deserves it, after all, he deserves to burn. At least it feels good. Their bodies are pressed together now, close and hot and almost unbearable. Laurens’ thrusts become erratic, nearly frantic, and Alexander finds himself overwhelmed by the growing heat between them.

“Oh my god, Laurens,” Hamilton groans, eyes foggy and blushing heavily.

“You’re gorgeous”, John says huskily, panting as his movements become even rougher, “Alexander, my dear boy”

“Laurens,”, Hamilton’s voice is hardly intelligible now, his throat too hoarse and his mind too blurry, “John”, he almost screams, and then he falls silent, hugging Laurens and gasping for air.

Realization hits Laurens all too quickly. It’s like a bucket of cold water; suddenly Hamilton’s there, weak and undone, and John just knows he’s made an irreversible mistake. Panic strikes again, a ruthless punishment. Laurens feels disgusted, disgusting. Has he poisoned Alexander? The mere thought is too much to bear. He places his hands on Hamilton’s shoulders and looks at him, quickly retreating when the other meets his eyes.

“Laurens,” Alexander murmurs, voice steadier now, “it’s ok”

“I’m so sorry”

“It’s ok, it’s fine,” he’s panting, he’s shaking; he looks completely stunning, “I promise”

“Will you tell-”

“No,” Hamilton barks, “I won’t, dear god, do you really fear I could do such thing?”

Laurens doesn’t reply. Alexander leans forward and tries to press a kiss against his shoulder, desperate to find a sign that the blaze John carries is not, in fact, also consuming him. But John flinches before he can be touched, confirming what Hamilton fears the most. Laurens doesn’t realize what he’s doing; he only knows he can’t take it, not right now.

“I’m sorry”

“Look,” Alexander says, more serious this time, “it's ok if you don't want me to touch you”, he sighs, then adds, “but promise you'll stay with me, alright?”

Suddenly, he remembers. He remembers the lamp, the blood; then, he understands why they even did what they did. Such a selfish thing to do, such a shameless abuse of his friend’s kindness. He can’t believe Hamilton can’t see it. John swallows harshly, trembling. Alexander is still blushing, still jaded; he's no threat, despite what his convoluted mind says. And he is asking for so little. Maybe he can at least do this right.

“I promise”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think!  
> comments and kudos are super appreciated
> 
> also will i ever write a modern AU??????? maybe i will whatcha say


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